


Archangel's Playlist

by Nebulad



Series: Sea of Stars [6]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She leaned over and found the angle far too difficult to actually see- his carapace was in the way, for one, and for another he was obnoxiously larger than her. He teetered on the edge of weirdly big, but made up for it by being adorable, so she forgave him for turian height and proportions and bought boots with thicker soles.</p><p>In this situation, however, any attempt to look over his shoulder at his face would require a mild amount of climbing and some creative rolling. If she got out of bed he would more than likely wake up- they’d been soldiers and mercenaries and galactic criminals by some standards, so neither of them slept very deeply.</p><p>She could grab his visor, though. He kept it on the shelf above the pillows, an easy reach upwards that could be done without jerking him awake- so she did, cradling it awkwardly in her hands. It was far too big for a human head, but she reasoned that she didn’t have to put it all the way on- just enough for it to tune to her optics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Archangel's Playlist

Garrus only ever took his visor off to sleep, and Faust was pretty sure there was some sort of galactic conspiracy to prevent her from seeing his face without it on. It was getting to the point where she was _studying_ strange turians, trying to impose Garrus’ facial features on them to try and picture him without the thing.

Lucky for her, he’d started sleeping in her cabin.

He’d been worried at first- what if people started to talk, what if she got shit for it, what if, what if, what if- but had eventually been convinced that no one cared and was making some sort of weird, clicking snore next to her. Her translator helpfully translated the noise to _le ronflement,_ a small footnote in the corner of her eye. Military translators always went overboard, but she’d been saved several times by the stupid thing translating _les bruit de pas_ and _respiration bruyante._

She leaned over and found the angle far too difficult to actually see- his carapace was in the way, for one, and for another he was obnoxiously larger than her. He teetered on the edge of _weirdly big,_ but made up for it by being adorable, so she forgave him for turian height and proportions and bought boots with thicker soles.

In this situation, however, any attempt to look over his shoulder at his face would require a mild amount of climbing and some creative rolling. If she got out of bed he would more than likely wake up- they’d been soldiers and mercenaries and galactic criminals by some standards, so neither of them slept very deeply.

She _could_ grab his visor, though. He kept it on the shelf above the pillows, an easy reach upwards that could be done without jerking him awake- so she did, cradling it awkwardly in her hands. It was far too big for a human head, but she reasoned that she didn’t have to put it _all the way_ on- just enough for it to tune to her optics.

It was difficult to see in the dark, but she could feel letters carved into the side of it. She didn’t recognize the alphabet, but she knew what she was touching- the names of his squad, with a violently burnt out _Sidonis_ marking the betrayal. He’d told her about this particular piece of sentimentality back when they’d been with Cerberus- he’d been a little drunk and nostalgic and thought she’d laugh at him for it.

She’d shown him her thresher maw tattoo, from right after Akuze.

Faust shook away that particular nightmare, holding the blue tech screen against her eye. Immediately her vision was _flooded_ with information- heat readings on everything in the room (mostly him, her computers, and her), distance in relation to objects she focused on for any amount of time, detected heart rate for everything with a heartbeat in her cabin-

_Archangel’s Playlist._

“Display,” she whispered, her face cracking into a grin. She was given an _enormous_ list of songs, which she supposed was reasonable- turian ears weren’t really fit for earbuds or headphones, so having his visor play music for him wasn’t unexpected. Some of the songs were in languages with characters she didn’t understand- turian again, she guessed, or some language off of Palaven. There were some asari artists, with characters that were much smoother and more flowing than the sharp, symmetrical turian ones. There were even some human songs, although she didn’t understand the language.

“Show top five,” she whispered, casting her eyes over to her sleeping boyfriend. She was sort of surprised that he hadn’t sensed some sort of galactic disturbance and woken up to snatch the thing away from her.

All of the songs displayed were in a different language. “Translate to French,” she tried, unsure if Garrus would bother installing multiple language interfaces. It worked, thankfully- maybe a factory setting- and she was faced with five songs perfectly expressed in French. Expel 10 was on the list- she would always be sort of unnerved by the band, expecting Morinth to jump out at her- and a song from _Fleet and Flotilla._ The number one song though…

“ _Die for the Cause?”_ she whispered.

“Acknowledged. Now playing, _Die for the Cause_ , Turian Imperial Anthem,” a ringing voice droned. Shepard hardly had time to hiss before the whole room was suddenly filled with such a hard drum beat that the water on her bedside table was edging forward. She shrieked in surprise and Garrus shot up, looking around in a mildly panicked matter.

“Are we under attack?” he asked over the beat, just as a chorus of deep, droning turian voices began to chant. Shepard shoved his visor at him.

“Shut it off!” she yelled, jabbing his shoulder frantically. He slid the visor over his head and said something- she couldn’t hear over the fucking _army_ of singing turians-and silence fell back over the room. Faust could _hear_ her heart pounding in her mouth, her hands trembling minutely in surprise.

“What the hell just happened?” Garrus demanded.

“Your stupid fucking visor started screaming!” she insisted.

“On its own?” he asked, his eyes distracted by whatever control panel he was interacting with. She was about to agree, because it sounded better than _I was snooping through your visor,_ when she noticed his frown. “What language is this?”

Of course the fucking thing was still in French.

_(It took Garrus two days to realize that his visor didn’t have a virus, and EDI ratted her out in the end- but he did make a show of taking off his visor every night in plain view. “So I don’t have to wake up to the national anthem booming through my speakers,” he explained.)_

**Author's Note:**

> this is the last one i got friends


End file.
